Lakota Flower (17 page)

“How? When?” Caroline asked, eagerness flooding every part of her. Once more she was given Chumani’s first sentence as an answer. Would their Great Spirit, she mused in earnest, be generous and compassionate to a white woman? Was Wakantanka her own God and Creator in another form? Would praying to the Lakota deity be wrong, wicked? She did not know for certain, and white ministers might disagree, but she felt deep inside that God and Wakantanka were one and the same Divine Being. Even so, it was to God whom she prayed for guidance, help, and victory.

As she returned to Macha’s tepee, Caroline felt a nearoverwhelming sense of impending doom that almost halted her in midstep. She glanced about and saw no threat to her; even Two Feathers was not in sight. She hoped and prayed it
wasn’t a mental message from God telling her not to wish for a goal she could never obtain…

Far away on September 2, War Eagle and his small scouting party steadily rode from the north toward their destination on Blue Water Creek, while General Harney and his massive force advanced from the southeast on the same location and target with much different plans in mind…

At five o’clock in the evening on September 2—a Sunday—General William Harney and his massive force reached Ash Hollow on the North Platte River. Advanced scouts reported that the encampments of Little Thunder and Spotted Tail—plus those of a few Oglala, Minneconjou, and Cheyenne—were sprawled on the left side of the snaking bank of Blue Water Creek, which traversed a long valley with rocky bluffs, rolling hills, ravines, sandy draws, an abundance of grass, and various trees and scrubs. To their advantage, the outriders related that the “Injuns” had no lookouts posted and were unaware of the army’s arrival only a few miles away in the hollow. Harney plotted his shrewd strategy, divided his troops into various companies, and ordered those groups to take positions at both ends of the canyon for a surprise assault at predawn the next morning.

Ordered to be careful so as not to alert the Indians—estimated at about 250 by the stealthy scouts—to their presence, the soldiers ate a cold supper of near-tasteless rations, washed down with fresh water. Even if they had been allowed to build fires to cook a hot meal and brew coffee, the sudden thunderstorm
that struck the location would have extinguished their flames. Most took cover fast beneath either a “shelter half” or a poncho.

As soon as the deluge halted, fog engulfed the area, keeping everything and everybody wet with its heavy moisture and stealing their visibility range. Those who could get to sleep under such conditions stretched out on their bedrolls and cursed the “infernal dampness” and “devil darkness” before succumbing to restless slumber. Each knew that in a few hours, they would be up again, mounted, and heading for a fierce battle that some might not survive, even though their numbers were far greater, they had new long-range rifles, and possessed the valuable element of surprise…

Earlier and west of the valley’s north entrance, War Eagle and his party had been compelled to halt their journey when the unexpected storm struck with the fury of an enraged grizzly. They did not have much farther to travel to where their two allies were supposed to be camped according to the last message they had received. Even if the bad weather ceased later, the Red Shield warriors knew there would be no light to guide their horses’ steps for the rest of the way, as the moon was wearing her black face for about five nights, which made it perilous to proceed in darkness.

As they tended their horses and made camp in the shelter of dense trees and large boulders, War Eagle was drenched by the torrent of rain. The wind was brisk. Lightning flashed in rapid succession, and peals of thunder followed its brilliant path. He scowled in worry and said to Cloud Chaser, “It is as if the Great Spirit sends thunderbirds to slow our approach and to warn us of danger ahead. Even
Hanhepi Wi’s
face is hidden from us so we cannot use her glow to continue our ride if the rain halts soon. It is as if the Creator, Mother Earth, the Good Spirits, and all forces of nature are troubled
on this dark sun. I feel something is wrong, my brother, but I do not grasp their warnings. Do you sense messages are being sent to us?”

Cloud Chaser stopped his task, checked the tempest’s frenzy, and replied in a somber tone, “Yes, but my eyes see and my ears hear nothing to tell me peril is coming soon to challenge us. Even so, it will be wise for us to share times standing guard while the others sleep.”

War Eagle nodded in agreement. His agitated thoughts took rapid flight to their camp far away, and he wondered if something could be terribly wrong there. Surely, he reasoned in dismay, the Great Spirit and His Helpers were not telling them to turn back and return home fast, as the Creator knew it would take days to reach Paha Sapa, too late to challenge any imminent threat to their loved ones. Besides, if the message they had received recently was accurate, the white war chief and his forces should be heading for Fort Kearny or Fort Laramie, and could not have had the time to reach their winter encampment. No, the foreboding hints must have to do with an event to happen soon and probably in this area. Perhaps they would gather important and enlightening information from their allies on the next sun, or Cloud Chaser would gather it when he rode to Fort Laramie as a white man to scout for news after their meeting with the Brules.

Aware there was no action he could take tonight, War Eagle chewed on strips of dried meat and sipped water as the rain ceased and a heavy fog surrounded them. Trained to endure harsh weather and discomfort without complaint, he settled down on his wet sleeping mat. He rolled to his left side, closed his eyes, and summoned Caroline’s image.

He envisioned her lovely face smiling at him, her blue eyes aglow with love and desire. As surely as he inhaled the Creator’s air and walked upon the face of Mother Earth, she was his one weakness, if his matching love and desire were a debility. So far, he could not think of anything he had done or said because of her or their feelings which could be
viewed as a flaw or had impaired his prowess and duty. Yet, he must make certain he did not allow his craving for her to shame him or to cause him to fail in his ranks.
If the good deeds she has done were not to show me and others she is to live among us until she breathes no more or the flower she gave to me was not the sign I prayed for, Great Spirit, give me one soon so I will know whether to advance on her, even at a slow pace, or to retreat from her forever.

Just as dawn began to expose its first traces of light, War Eagle and his companions were awakened not by Swift Otter, who was on guard, but by the ominous sounds of gunfire that seemed to echo off the cliffs in the valley. The disturbed warriors leapt to their feet and seized their nearby weapons, bringing their keen wits to full alert. The sinister noises continued as all gazes were drawn to the bearing of their destination.

War Eagle, the leader of their assignment, ordered, “Come, let us seek a high place to search out this trouble with Dewdrops’ magic eye.”

In a hurry to investigate the matter, they gathered and loaded their belongings and rode to the base of a chosen bluff, as wet ground prevented telltale dust clouds. Quickly they made their way up its westward slope, sneaked through a narrow cleft to an advantageous point, and flattened themselves on their stomachs so their presence would not be noticed.

War Eagle used field glasses, loaned to him again by Wind Dancer’s wife, to study the situation in the canyon. The “magic eye” had been a gift to Chumani’s father from a white trapper friend long ago and had been given to her after she became a female warrior and hunter following the slaughters of her first husband and small son by the Crow. The looking glass had been used by him four years past during one part of the sacred vision-quest journey with his older brother and Chumani, who had chosen him, Zitkala, and Red
Feather as their helpers during those awesome adventures. Those had been exciting, challenging, and victorious events in his band’s history; and they had been painted upon their tribal record hide. Now, more deadly ordeals confronted them; a grim one, today…

War Eagle scrutinized the startling scene below their position, and a lengthy view of the canyon and action was good from that elevation and with the white man’s spyglass. He told the others what was happening where the camps of Spotted Tail and Little Thunder were situated. Groups of soldiers were attacking them from all directions and had most of the Brules and their friends cut off from escape. He saw a tall man with snow-colored hair growing around his mouth and along his jawline sitting astride his horse on a hill, one who War Eagle surmised was the menacing white war chief. He saw some of their allies taking cover in the bluffs’ caves or behind rocks or trees or in ravines. He saw frightened women trying to grab children and supplies to flee the massive threat but soldiers were bearing down on them too fast for them to achieve their goals. Many females were cut off from their little ones who stood crying and flailing their arms in terror. Their agility and swiftness long gone, old ones simply stood in the open and awaited their ends, soulful death chants leaving their mouths. Panicked Indian horses whinnied, snorted, stomped, and jerked at thongs around either their necks or their hobbled front legs. Many of the unsecured animals with long leather strips dangling to the grass as they grazed and drank raced off in several directions to elude the unfamiliar sounds of gunfire. Seasoned warriors and braves-in-training darted about fetching more weapons and trying to defend their families and camp; but their bows, arrows, lances, and war clubs made little headway against the harrowing weapons of the soldiers who could fire from a long distance away from their targets.

Soldiers galloped toward the bluffs and underbrush-dotted
crevices and spat forth countless bullets into those hiding places, causing some Brules to leap up and run in panic. The bluecoats fired rifles and pistols and slashed with sharp sabers as they galloped around and between scattered tepees, slaying unarmed people as well as resisting warriors who had been taken by surprise and with terrible odds of at least three to one from what War Eagle could determine. He told his companions Little Thunder had seized a white cloth, secured it to the top of his lance, and was waving it wildly in the air. No doubt, he reasoned, the Brule chief was shouting over the combined noises for mercy and truce.

As War Eagle watched and passed words to his party, for a time the grim action ceased as Harney met and spoke with Little Thunder, Spotted Tail, and a few others of high rank, though the general refused to shake hands with Little Thunder, who withdrew his offering. But the chiefs and warriors must have been given impossible-to-meet demands and, when they saw soldiers still riding to close the circle more tightly around them and their bands, the parley halted abruptly and the Brule leaders retreated at a rapid pace. Soldiers fired on them, but missed their fleet targets, expert horsemen who swayed side to side to dodge the bullets.

Once more, the fierce and lethal fighting ensued. Some tepees were torched, perhaps to force dwellers outside. Cooking stands and weapon stands were knocked over and trampled. Drying garments were yanked from wooden racks and thrown to the ground. Indians of all ages were clubbed with gun butts or cut with sabe’ many were shot in the back or head with iron balls. Red became a vivid color as blood flowed from countless wounds on the injured or finally halted on the slain. Desperate attempts to flee were renewed as the Lakotas and their friends tried to make an opening and guard the flank of their women and children who were heading toward the north end of the lengthy canyon. But, War Eagle spied in dismay, many bluecoats were coming from
that direction, indicating that Harney was clever and well prepared for this onslaught. Worse, it appeared as if the white war chief was bent on total death and destruction…

War Eagle slowly lowered the field glasses and took a deep—though not calming—breath before relating those atrocities. “They are outnumbered, my friends, and their weapons are weak against those of the bluecoats. They did not have time to prepare for battle or defense before Mad Dog struck without warning. But we would only lose our lives if we rode to help them, for they are surrounded, and the white war chief has the big thundersticks with him. We must live to battle these cruel enemies when they strike at our camp soon. Do all agree we stay here to live to fight another sun?”

After the four nodded, he passed the field glasses to his brother to watch and report for a while, as the wanton slayings of their allies below and their inability to give them aid angered and pained him, and stung his pride.

It did not take long for Cloud Chaser to grasp the depth of and reasons for War Eagle’s strong feelings and the sharing of the grim observation task as he now studied the carnage and razing. He sighted Spotted Tail and his warriors, even his young nephew Crazy Horse, battling with all of their might to give their band and their allies time to flee or to seek cover, although concealment seemed to offer no protection on this dark day. It was evident to Cloud Chaser that General Harney, as War Eagle said earlier, had planned cleverly by positioning companies of infantry, cavalry, artillery, and dragoons in many different locations, as most of the cornered Indians were cut off from freedom or survival. His heart surged with elation as he saw some eluding the sly trap by running up a dry ravine; then, his joy vanished as he saw them stalked and cut down. A few scurried for concealment among rocks and trees or in shallow caves, darting between groups of soldiers, who followed them with eagerness, or with resolve to carry out their orders.

As Cloud Chaser scanned the north end of the setting to see if or how many Brules and others were sneaking through Harney’s line there, he saw a man whom he was sure he recognized. As if his mental message,
Look up here at me,
were heard and obeyed for a minute or two, he focused on that soldier’s face and surmised from the photograph he had seen in his tepee that it was David Sims. He watched in amazement and elation as the sandy-haired man checked for witnesses before motioning for three women with infants or children to hurry past him into a dry wash. When two braves ran into view as soldiers pursed them on horseback, he was positive that David Sims fired
over
the Brules’ heads on purpose. He watched that particular man for a short time and decided that David was only pretending to attack the Indians. Without delay, he reported those stirring incidents and his impressions to the others, revealing how he knew the white man’s identity.

War Eagle hoped he had heard his brother correctly. He murmured for confirmation, “Caroline’s brother helps our allies live and flee?”

Cloud Chaser answered, “That is true, for my eyes saw him do so. He is like his sister; he does not hate Indians or want them dead. He seeks to help our kind here as his sister does in our camp and in my tepee.”

War Eagle’s heart pounded with excitement and pride as a glorious ray of sunshine slightly brightened the gloomy day. Perhaps this was the sign he had been seeking from the Great Spirit… “That is good. She will be happy to hear such things and to learn he lives and is safe.” As he saw his friends nod and smile in approval, he was positive they would relate such big news to their people, making her more acceptable to—